


The Strength of Suction

by DoAsYouWill



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, So Craig and Tweek never dated, South Park was never PC, They're all juniors in high school, this is pretty ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-19 17:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16538735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoAsYouWill/pseuds/DoAsYouWill
Summary: Being excommunicated by your childhood friends is hard. Putting yourself in a room with them just so you can be near your crush is hard, too.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment if you'd like!

“The only reason you’re going to this stupid conformist party is because Craig’s gonna be there.”

Tweek jerked his head up from his notebook at the mention of Craig’s name. “GAH! That’s not true! I’m going because I --”

“You what?”

Gnawing relentlessly on his bottom lip, Tweek fought to scrounge up some sort of excuse for attending the party hosted by the head cheerleader, Bebe Stevens. He really had none; it wasn’t like anyone there  _talked_ to him. The only possible reason he’d have to go to a party filled with people he didn’t like was because he knew for certain that Craig Tucker, the object of Tweek’s admiration for years, was going to be there.

(He’d overhead, by accident of course, Clyde harass Craig until he finally agreed to come.)

“I miss being around the other guys,” Tweek tried weakly.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Try again.”

“I was invited?” Tweek’s voice was considerably less confident. Not like it was confident in the slightest in his previous statement.

“No offense, Tweek, but there’s no way in R’lyeh you were invited to fucking _Bebe Stevens’_ house,” Henrietta said, taking a long drag of her cigarette.

Tweek huffed a sigh, slamming his notebook closed and setting it beside him. With a shake of his head, he pulled a cigarette from the antique cigarette box on the bed above his head. He popped it between his lips and leaned towards Pete, who took the hint and flicked the lighter, springing a flame, and hovered it over the end of the ‘cancer stick’, as Tweek’s lovely mother deemed the object of his unexpected addiction. When a thick smoke entered Tweek’s mouth after a short inhale, he straightened up and rested his back against the end of Henrietta’s bed, his knees pulling up to his chest. “Okay, so  _fine_. I’m going to see Craig. But fucking sue me! I like seeing him!”

“That’s fine, whatever, but you’re  _just_ going to get hurt again,” Henrietta said disdainfully. “The world sucks enough as it is without you putting yourself in shitty situations.”

“But it’s never Craig’s fault!” Tweek insisted. “It’s always his asshole friends. I can get over it if I get to see Craig at all.”

Michael snorted. “Masochist.”

Tweek’s eyes snapped to Michael’s, watching as he scratched something out in his notebook and wrote something else in its place. “Dickhead.”

“When everything inevitably goes to shit,” Pete said, “we’re all gonna be at Henrietta’s house. Just so you know.”

Tweek rolled his eyes, letting the cigarette rest between his lips. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“We all know tonight’s going to go awful for you.” Henrietta fixed a genuine stare in Tweek’s direction. “It’s got nothing to do with you. Our school is full of conformist assholes that seek cheap thrills in torturing people that don’t conform to their shitty way of life.”

Tweek smiled to himself in his mind at Henrietta’s words. Listening to the goth kids try to comfort him always either amused Tweek, greatly annoyed him, or straight up sucked the life out of him. It just depended on how serious the problem was, and how lost Tweek felt. When he spiraled into chaos after officially being cut off from everyone else besides the goth kids, and after he was confronted by the only people who _would_ be seen with him, Pete and Michael said things like,

“Only emos cut themselves, and emos are such fucking posers. Just ask for help, Jesus Christ, we’re not gonna ignore you.”

It showed Tweek that they cared, but at the same time it still somewhat isolated him. It invalidated his emotions and made it seem like Tweek was overreacting over his painful loneliness. However, as much as that hurt, Tweek _had_ come to them for help once after they’d informed him that they liked him enough to be a shoulder for him whenever he needed it. And when he sat between the two of them on Henrietta’s bed, shoulders trembling as tears streamed down his cheeks, Pete wrapped an arm around him and coaxed Tweek into leaning his body weight on him. And Michael sat beside him, legs folded in front of him, puffing on a cigarette, and read passages from  _1984_ , because it was one of Tweek’s favorite books. It calmed Tweek down much faster than hurting himself ever could, and ever would, as, after the first incident, Henrietta would make it a point to periodically check his arms. She would never ask outright, but it was obvious what she was doing, and it always made Tweek feel . . . important.

And he hardly ever felt important.

And from the beginning, Henrietta would say,

“You know, I  _am_ here if you need me. If you ever need someone to talk to. You’re one of us now. Better than everyone else at our school.” Then she would clear her throat, or take a puff of her cigarette, and add, “Not like that’s a big deal or anything. Pretty much everyone sucks.”

And Tweek . . . well, he liked hearing that. A lot. And he would return the favor, telling her that he was never doing anything besides working, and that his parents always encouraged him not to be a loner, and would almost positively let him leave work in favor of actually having friends. She didn’t ask for help like that, and Tweek knew that. And he respected it. But he wanted her to know that he loved her too, even if she would never say it, and even if he wouldn’t either.

* * *

Bebe’s house was packed by the time Tweek slowed to a stop in front of the mansion-like building in front of him. There was loud music pouring out every crevasse of the Victorian, and, through the parted curtains of the windows, Tweek could see more people than he’d ever talked to in his life.

Tweek knew that he wasn’t going to be able to get inside of Bebe’s house by himself, so he waited for a huge herd of some random seniors. As suavely as he could, he attached himself to the back of the group, and walked with them through the front door as they were all greeted by a smiling Bebe.

Once inside, Tweek immediately wanted to leave. The music was 99% bass, with 1% being Rihanna's auto tuned voice, but it didn’t seem like anyone inside cared. There were plastic red cups strewn all over the place, as well as beer and soda cans, and, in one of the rooms, Tweek even spied an empty bottle of Jack.

For about ten minutes after his arrival, Tweek wandered the first couple rooms aimlessly, trying to see if he would stumble across someone that he even recognized. But the only person Tweek had seen so far that he could definitively identify was Bebe, he couldn’t see anyone else. Not even Stan, who was probably the most popular guy at South Park High, and should’ve been in the heat of the party.

But Tweek didn’t really care about all of that. He cared that he didn’t know where Craig was. If he couldn’t see Craig, he had no reason to be there. Because  _fuck everyone_ , as far as Tweek was concerned, but  _don’t fuck Craig because he’s a good guy with really pretty eyes_.

Just as Tweek was starting to lose hope, and was just about ready to call it quits and go home, he heard Bebe shout over the loud stereo, “ _Has anyone seen Clyde_?!”

There was a barely-audible response of, “ _Basement_!” from someone somewhere in the room, and that was when Tweek knew he hit the jackpot.

Because if Clyde dragged Craig to the party, then that meant that wherever Clyde was, Craig was sure to be also. Because if Clyde wanted him there, and Craig didn’t want to be there, then the only reason Craig would’ve shown up was to appease Clyde.

So Tweek sucked in a courageous breath, and followed Bebe through an open door, leading to a well-lit staircase that was considerably quieter than the rest of the house. He stayed back a few seconds so it didn’t seem like he was stalking Bebe, but eventually descended the carpeted steps, looking up hesitantly as he reached the bottom.

Tweek wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but the reason he hadn’t seen anyone he knew on the first floor was because _everyone he knew_  was in the basement.

Tweek fiddled with the front of his shirt as he stared around at all of the kids that had collectively turned their backs on him when they were all in seventh grade. It hurt less to see them than Tweek thought it would. Tweek and his old friends _did_ everything together. They  _went_ everywhere together, and they experienced the strangest, weirdest, most fucked up shit on the planet together. So when they all started ignoring him on the first day of seventh grade, it hurt like a fucking bitch. For a couple days, he thought he’d actually died, until his parents said good morning to him once, and he realized the real reason nobody was talking to him was because no one wanted to talk to him. 

But, seeing them all having fun and laughing. It didn’t hurt. If anything, it pissed him off a little bit, but he let it go. He wasn’t there to please them, or prove something to them, or any other stupid reason.

No. He was there for one person. The last person to say something willingly to him in school, besides the goth kids and his teachers. And the second Tweek laid eyes on him, he felt a weight in his chest lift.

Craig was sitting on the floor in a circle with ten or fifteen other kids, his knees crossed Indian style in front of him and a generic beer can in his hand. He had an elbow resting on his knee, propping his chin upright, and he surveyed his surroundings with a dull, disinterested expression on his face. He would periodically taking a short gulp of the alcoholic beverage in his hand, but otherwise remained fairly still.

That is, until he was smacked on the back by Clyde, and had the words, “Okay, Craig! You’re first!” practically shouted in his face.

Craig glanced down at the empty bottle in the center of the circle that Clyde had been gesturing to, and then looked back up at the smirking brunette. “No,” he said simply.

“Oh, come on, Craig!” Clyde said, nudging Craig’s shoulder with his fist. He had a giggling Bebe on his arm, and it seemed to have increased the dickiness in his personality. “It’s tradition!”

“I don’t give a fuck about tradition.”

“Quit being an asshole, Craig,” Stan interjected, setting his beer beside him on the carpet.

Almost like he was being drawn to him, Tweek started to cross the room in Craig’s direction, an excitement coursing through his veins and pulling at his lips so they curved into a smile that hadn’t possessed his face in quite a while. Not since the last time he’d been allowed to be close to Craig. He didn’t have a plan for what he’d do or say in the event that they crossed paths; really, the only reason he’d shown up was to just . . . be next to Craig? Listen to him talk? Enjoy the view of his obnoxiously-handsome face? Tweek hadn’t exactly developed his plan too much, but so far, it was going just fine.

Tweek weaseled his way into the circle, though remaining close to the outside, and he sat the same way everyone else was sitting. (He briefly imagined all his friends collectively calling him a ‘conformist bitch’, but he tried not to let that thought consume him too much.) He purposefully put himself away from the people he knew; Craig, Clyde, Stan, and the other guys that Tweek had spent an extended amount of time around when he was younger were on the other side of the circle. No one on either side of Tweek seemed to question his presence, although that might’ve been because they probably didn’t know who he was. Tweek didn’t know who they were, so they would have no reason to be aware of his existence.

“Oh, you’re still with us?” Craig was saying to Stan, flat, indifferent eyes fixed to the black-haired quarterback. “I didn’t know you could get your face out of your girlfriend’s pussy long enough to say anything. Which cheerleader is it this time --”

“Shut the fuck up, Craig,” Stan started angrily, only to be silenced when Kyle groaned in annoyance.

“Come on, you two, the party started half an hour ago. Can’t you wait until at least a couple hours in before you start killing each other?”

“If he’s going to be an asshole, then no,” Craig said.

Clyde huffed irritably. “Just spin the fucking bottle, dude, I don’t want to listen to you two argue. You’re worse than Kyle and Cartman sometimes.”

“That’s literally not possible,” Token said, at the same time that Craig hissed, voice borderline irate,

“Fucking _fine_.” He wrapped his long, slender fingers around the empty beer bottle, and, with a determined flick of the wrist, the bottle went flying, spinning fast enough so that it took a solid ten seconds for it to finally come to a stop.

Right in front of Tweek.

The entire crowd either, “Oooooh”’d, or made grossed-out-groans. Tweek, on the other hand, smacked two palms to his mouth in utter terror, and somehow managed to stare at the entire room at the same time, though it was obvious he purposefully avoided Craig’s eyes.

Had Tweek decided to suck it up and look over at the object of his impending lip-lock, he would’ve noticed a surprised, yet monotone expression on the olive-skinned teen, eyes half-lidded and face relaxed and accepting of his fate. But Tweek’s mind was too busy screaming to even think about returning to his surroundings.

 _Oh God oh God oh God please tell me this isn’t about to happen to me, or if it is about to happen to me, please tell me that there’s a new rule to this game that says that all kisses have to be done IN PRIVATE because I can’t do this with everyone staring at us, I just can’t, I’ll lose my head, I_ know  _I will, and then I’ll do something awful, because that’s all I ever do_!

“Tweek?” The sound of his name falling from Clyde’s mouth caused Tweek’s eyes to fly open from the absolute fear of suddenly being the center of attention. “What’re you doing here?”

“ _How_  are you here?” Bebe spoke up, gaze unimpressed as she turned to stare at Tweek.

“He probably snuck in through a window or something,” Stan said with an eye roll.

“Yeah, fuck knows he misses actual humans,” Clyde tacked on. “He’s always around those goth vampire fucks that hang out behind the school and smoke cigarettes all day.”

“Probably because they’re the only people who can stand to be around him anymore.”

Tweek’s stares seemed to ping pong to different people as they spoke about him like he wasn’t even there. Tweek knew that the moment he left, he was going to be pissed off about what they’d said, not just about him, but his best friends, too. But he was kind of being targeted by everyone at the same time, and it was thwarting him from reacting like a normal person would to being insulted.

"Yeah, and speaking of, he was not invited --" Bebe started, her eyes narrowing in Tweek's direction.

"Wait," Clyde said, a mischievous smirk in his eyes as he glanced between Craig and Tweek. "Craig  _did_  spin first, and he . . .  _did_  land on Tweek, so . . ."

"Oh, gross, dude, you're actually going to make Craig kiss him?" Stan said, his face crumpling in disgust and humor, like forcing Craig to kiss Tweek was high-brow pranking.

"It's tradition," Clyde said, nudging Craig's shoulder again. "So. Pucker up." 

With a long, heaving sigh, Craig crawled across the center of the circle, pushing the bottle to the side so he didn’t knee it as he moved. On all fours, he kept his eyes glued to Tweek’s anxious, terrified face as he slowly stalked past the anticipating crowd. In Tweek’s eyes, the short moments that it took Craig to cross the five feet to get to him were actually an eternity, because it felt like time stopped. Holding Craig’s eyes, everything around the both of them fell away.

Craig eventually came to a stop in front of Tweek and observed him quietly, resting on his knees but propped forward on his fists.

“ERK! Uh --  _hi_!” Tweek grimaced, mentally berating himself. Of all the things he could’ve said -- why he had to say anything, he wasn’t entirely sure, and he was annoyed that he had to at all -- he had to pick fucking ‘hi’? The only thing worse, as far as Tweek was concerned, was if he asked, right then and there, if he could suck Craig’s cock. Then, and only then, could his situation by even remotely worse than it was.

Craig tilted his head curiously, but didn’t answer. He simply lifted a hand to Tweek’s cheek, cupping the heated skin with more gentleness than Tweek was expecting from the infamous pitcher of the South Park baseball team. Craig’s baby blue eyes were calculating as they flicked between Tweek’s, an apology lurking behind the normal indifference that Tweek was used to, that the entire class was used to.

“Don’t freak out,” Craig said finally, after a long stretch of tense silence. “It’s just a kiss.” Without waiting for a response, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Tweek’s trembling, parted lips. Tweek’s heart exploded in a flurry of butterflies, (or pterodactyls, more accurately), and he stared, wide-eyed and terrified, at Craig’s closed lids, relaxed and lacking in worry lines or creased skin.

Craig’s lips were slightly chapped, enough to be noticeable, but not too much to be unpleasant. He was warm; he had a warmth to him that not many people could see. But Tweek could -- Tweek was remarkably skilled in reading people, and he’d known, since the moment he’d met him, that Craig had several layers under the surface. And the bottom one -- or a layer close to the bottom -- was soft and welcoming, caring and sweet. A layer that could love more passionately and gently than any other, and ever since Tweek had come to that conclusion, he’d been hopelessly infatuated with the boy.

Because imagine being loved by the person that hated everyone?

Tweek had a bit of an attention complex, stemming from his parents’ perpetual ignorance, and his classmates abrupt dismissal of him from their groups. He had grown to adore having people he liked pay attention to him; he liked when they spoke to him and were kind to him, and Tweek had seen Craig be nice before, he knew it was more than possible. And whenever Craig was nice -- on those rare occasions -- he had a look in his eyes that Tweek found so very intoxicating.

The kiss itself was rather chaste. From Tweek’s perspective, it lasted forever, or a second. Or perhaps both. All Tweek was sure of, aside from the fact that the majority of Tweek’s teen dreams were coming true, was that Craig ended it too quickly. And he did so gently, (so very, very gently, and that made Tweek quiver almost as much as the kiss did), pulling away slowly with a soft smack of their lips as they parted.

There was a beat of tense silence as Craig kept their faces so close, before he leaned back, his hand dropping from Tweek’s cheek. “There,” he said, turning his eyes to Clyde. The only indication that Craig gave that he had just been kissing another guy was a light blush on his cheeks. Other than that, he seemed as deadpanned and indifferent as ever. “You happy now?”

Tweek immediately felt an unwelcome chill where Craig’s body had once been, and he let out a whine from the back of his throat. The sound caught Craig’s attention, who turned back to him and raised an eyebrow.

Without thinking, and without giving Craig a response to his peculiar behavior, Tweek surged forward, gripping the front of Craig’s sweatshirt and smashing their lips together again. At the return of that oh-so-amazing warmth, Tweek whimpered softly, his head tilting and his jaw shifting so that the kiss deepened.

Craig, on the other hand, just let out a surprised grunt, and stared at Tweek’s closed eyes. He didn’t attempt to break himself free from Tweek’s desperate vice grip, though he didn’t move an inch to reciprocate. He seemed surprised, caught off guard, that someone like Tweek would even try something like that with someone like him. It was unheard of. But . . . not entirely unwelcome, Tweek hoped, as he felt Craig’s muscles relax under his hands, a soft sigh through Craig’s nose blew warm air on Tweek’s face.

In the end, it wasn’t Craig who jarred Tweek back into reality, but their audience, a bunch of judgmental kids that Tweek had somehow completely forgotten about. But the second Tweek heard the multiple, very interested voices, he jolted, shoving Craig’s unsuspecting body away from him with a spark of fear and terror at the laughter and jeers that surrounded him. His eyes widened as far as they possibly could so he could soak in his complete and total humiliation and he stared at everything and everyone at the same time.

There were various reactions coming from all sides: most were of disgust, some were of shock, others lamented their appreciation that they weren’t in Craig’s shoes, some were laughing at the ridiculousness of Tweek’s obvious desperation. But there was one shout that made Tweek’s blood run cold.

“Ooooh, Craig, aren’t you gonna kick his ass for that?”

It was probably Cartman. Sounded like something Cartman would say. Or maybe it was someone else, Tweek really couldn’t tell, he was surprised he was even able to pick one voice out of the cacophony of other voices.

Tweek scrambled to his feet, backing away from the circle of high schoolers, a feeling of utmost horror seizing control of his muscles and forcing them to tremble and shake and clench and unclench so it was physically impossible for him to even try to calm down.

“I . . . I, oh, God! Jesus, I’m sorry, I --” Shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut, Tweek spun on his heels and sprinted out of the room to the stairs, then up the steps, through the crowded rooms, and out the front door, his short little legs carrying him as fast as they could possibly go.

No one followed him -- although that was to be expected. The only people who’d taken him in after the start of high school were the goth kids, and that was only because he was an outcast enough to be considered ‘cool’ to them. That, and he had a growing disdain for organized society, was vocal about it, and drank a lot of coffee.

Tweek ran all the way back to his house, and barreled through his front door. He ran right past his parents, but they seemed oblivious to his distress, and only asked how the party was. They didn’t follow Tweek when he shouted, “GAH!  _It was terrible_!” which Tweek was eternally grateful for.

Hopping up the stairs two at a time, Tweek tried to hold back his anxiety attack as best he could. He wasn’t about to be overwhelmed by sobs, (as often as Tweek freaked out, he never cried too often), but his chest was rumbling with anxious grunts and screeches, and he would’ve rather his parents not heard him. It would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.

After Tweek slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, he crossed his room and flung himself onto his bed, crawled up the mattress so he was resting on his pillows, and he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the first number he could think of.

It rang three times, before a low voice answered, “Hello?”

“ _Pete Pete Pete Pete Pete_ ,” Tweek chanted anxiously into the phone, curling into a ball under his blankets. He shook his head against the pillow cases, feeling embarrassed tears pool into the corners of his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Did you realize how stupid it was to go to the bubblegum conformist party? We all told you when you left --”

“Oh God, I kissed him!” Tweek screeched, pressing his face into his mattress and squeezing his eyes shut in horror and humiliation.

“Craig?” Pete asked, tone lifting with intrigue.

“ _Yes_  Craig, who the fuck else?!” Tweek exclamation was so loud he was sure Henrietta’s entire house would’ve been able to hear his voice. And it seemed he was right in his assessment, as another voice answered him.

“Come over.”

“Henrietta?” Tweek sniffled, lifting his head slightly. Tweek liked his friends, sure, but Henrietta had an air about her that always calmed him down. She was a tough love kind of girl -- all the goths practiced tough love, being caring teens that also didn’t want to seem soft -- but she would say nice things in a tough voice, and Tweek liked that.

“Yeah,” she responded flatly. “Come over. We’re all at my house.”

And, without another word, the line went dead.

Tweek shook his head, annoyed at Henrietta's theatrics, and he heaved himself off of his bed. Running a hand down his face to try to calm himself, he exited his bedroom treading slightly quieter than he'd been before. As Tweek passed the living room, he called offhandedly through the doorway to his parents, “Mom, Dad, I’m spending the night at Henrietta’s." He didn’t wait for an answer, one confirming his plans or denying him from leaving the house. As far as Tweek was concerned, if they wanted him that badly to stay the night, then they would’ve stopped him after he slammed the front door shut behind him and hopped down his stoop.

* * *

Tweek’s friends were all waiting for him when Henrietta’s mother let Tweek into Henrietta’s bedroom.

“Henri _etta_!” the middle-aged woman called in a sing-song voice. “Look who  _I_ just found on our front porch!”

“Yeah, thanks, Mom, now go away,” was the goth girl’s response as she flicked the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray in front of her.

“Okay, sweetie, you just call me if you need anything, I’ll be downstairs with your father watching the Wheel of Fortune,” Henrietta’s mother answered, giving the four teenagers a sweet smile, before closing the door behind her.

“ _Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, it was awful!_ ” Tweek wailed as soon as he was alone with his friends.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked, one leg pulled up in front of him as he flipped through Death and Despair magazine.

Tweek growled angrily at the question. “ _No_ , I’m not okay!” He shook his head irritably and stomped through the darkened room to Henrietta, and, even though she hadn’t invited him to sit beside her, he collapsed to the floor, curling into himself and resting his head on Henrietta’s shoulder.

“Do you want me to read to you?” Michael asked, already reaching onto Henrietta’s small bookshelf beside her bed.

Tweek shook his head against Henrietta’s shoulder. She didn’t make a move to reciprocate the physical affection, but she didn’t push him away, which meant that Tweek was allowed to stay where he was. “I just want to wallow in my pain.”

“That’s cool,” Pete said, flicking some ashes from the end of his cigarette.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “What happened anyway?”

Tweek groaned, the events of the night playing again in his mind. “We were playing spin the bottle --”

“Gross,” all three goths said at the same time.

“--And Craig went first, and when he spun the bottle it landed on  _me_ , and then he kissed me in front of everyone, and it was fucking  _awesome_ , you guys, but he pulled back after, ugh, like, three seconds, and then started to move away from me, but I guess I wasn’t done kissing him yet, because I just . . . ERK! I just . . . I grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him again, and I didn’t  _mean_ to, but everyone started . . .” Tweek gulped at this part, as the complete and utter terror that swept through his chest just listening to the taunts made his heart stutter all over again. “They all . . . laughed at me, and they're -- GRRRR -- _such fucking dicks_ , but I ran away before anyone could actually  _do_ anything, and then I went home and immediately called Pete, and now. . . .” Tweek’s voice trailed off and he pressed his forehead on to Henrietta’s warm, cushiony shoulder, his arms folding over his stomach. “I just want someone to punch a hole in my chest and rip my heart out because this  _fucking sucks_.”

There was stretch of silence. Because Tweek had declined the offer to indulge in his usual self-care routine, (rest his head on someone and listen as someone read his favorite book to him), nobody knew what to do to make him feel better. He was off-kilter, and, although the goth kids were comfortable around a lack of routine, they hadn’t quite figured Tweek out enough to make him feel better in any way other than what he’d told them would work.

“This is bullshit,” Henrietta announced suddenly. “Let me talk to him.”

Michael and Pete exchanged glances. “Does that mean we have to leave?” the former asked.

“Why can’t we stay?” Pete added, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray beside him.

Henrietta gestured to her bedroom door with her cigarette holder. “Give us five minutes.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Michael inquired, though he was already rising to his feet slowly, using his skull cane to balance himself as he moved.

“I don’t fucking know. Try to convince my mom that you’re demons and see if she calls an exorcist, use your fucking imagination.”

With eye rolls, but silent concessions, both Pete and Michael crossed Henrietta’s bedroom, avoiding the various ashtrays and lit candles that were placed all over the floor.

After the door closed behind Pete and Michael, and when it was just Henrietta and Tweek, there was a severe lack of conversation. Tweek had been expecting some grand explanation that would somehow make him feel infinitely better, because making him feel better was something that Henrietta was surprisingly good at, even if it didn’t seem like she tried (or cared) all that much.

So Tweek had adjusted to the comfortable silence, conceding to the fact that Henrietta’s solution was probably just a nice, desperately-needed silence in a comforting setting, where he could relax into a familiar mind-set that didn’t involve remembering the taunts of his classmates as he embarrassed himself in front of half his grade.

But he was wrong, as was proven when Henrietta said abruptly, “You’re in love with Craig.”

Tweek looked over at her with wide eyes, and saw the girl beside him staring at the BLAUHAUS poster on her wall with a blank expression on her face. She took long drags of her cigarette periodically, more often than normal, most likely to distract herself from the conversation that Tweek could tell she didn’t want to have.

Tweek nodded jerkily, one of his eyes squeezing shut as he twitched uncomfortably at the observation. “GAH! Yeah, and it fucking  _sucks_.”

Henrietta was quiet. She was never the loudest person, but she had fallen deathly silent after Tweek’s admission, her eyes narrowed as an internal battle played across her face.

“I know how you feel,” she said finally.

Tweek’s eyes widened. “NGH! Oh, God, you’re in love with Craig, too?!”

A long of incredulity briefly crossed Henrietta’s face, but she just rolled her eyes. “No, Tweek, I’m not in love with Craig.”

Tweek toyed anxiously with the front of his shirt. “Then  _who_?”

The dark-haired girl was quiet for another long while. “If you laugh at me, I will cut off your balls and mail them to your mother.”

Tweek gulped and nodded quickly to show his understanding. “Oh, Jesus! I won’t!”

Henrietta hesitated, a look of unease and discomfort on her porcelain-skinned face. “I . . . look, it’s not  _love_ , because I’ve come to the conclusion that love isn’t something I’m capable of, but . . .” She let out a long sigh and held her eyes shut tight. “I’ve found myself unable to remove the parasite that is Stan Marsh out of my mind.”

Tweek’s mouth fell open in complete and utter shock. “With . . .  _Stan_? But he’s one of Craig’s asshole friends, why would you love  _Stan_?”

Henrietta blinked sardonically. “He didn’t age well, did he?”

“Didn’t -- what?  _Age well_ , what are you --”

“Love sucks for everyone. No one ever has a happy ending. Even if you find someone that will return any affection you might have for them, your heart will break regardless. We’ll all die at some point, and either you will become nothing first, or you will watch someone you love become nothing.

“And it sucks extra hard for me,” Henrietta continued, her face so void of emotion that Tweek questioned if she hadn’t died in front of him. “Because I’ve seen him stumble and fall over a string of shitty cheerleaders that have no intellectual intrigue, who only entice him because they have perfect bodies. I’ve given up hope by now, because I know that him and I will never happen.”

“You don’t know --”

Henrietta held a glove-covered hand up to silence Tweek’s emphatic comforting. “I do know that. And trying will only result in my life getting even worse than it is right now. And I’ve gotten comfortable where I am. I don’t need someone else throwing fuel to the hellfire.”

Tweek chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. “Does anyone else know?”

For the first time since Pete and Michael had left the room, Henrietta looked at Tweek, and there was a warning glare in her eyes that had Tweek immediately agreeing to whatever she was about to demand. “No. It’s something I hardly allow myself to think about, let alone confide in anyone. And if you tell anyone a word of what I just said to you, I will string you up outside the school so everyone will see what I’m capable of. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand!” Tweek shrieked, leaning away from her and putting both hands on his neck protectively.

Henrietta sighed, taking hold of one of Tweek’s hand and pulling it away from his jugular vein. “Sorry. I don’t mean to make you spaz out. Sometimes I forget you have feelings.”

“EHGH! But you have feelings, too!” Tweek said loudly.

“Unwillingly.”

“Still feelings!”

Henrietta released Tweek’s wrist, and, to busy herself, stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray. “Did you get what I was saying before? About the whole . . . Stan thing?”

“So you’re saying I should just . . . give up?” Tweek asked forlornly, dropping his chin into his palms as his shoulders drooped hopelessly.

Henrietta observed him thoughtfully. “I’m saying Craig and Stan are different people. I’m saying Stan’s an asshole that I should’ve gotten over a long time ago, and Craig has the attractive quality of not caring about anything.  _Now_ do you see what I’m getting at?”

 _Yeah_ , Tweek thought miserably.  _You’ve said love sucks a fuck ton amount of times. And that it doesn’t matter who the person is, it’s all going to go to shit, so you might as well lose hope and let yourself die alone. That’s where we’ll all end up anyway_.

“Yeah,” Tweek answered, voice matching his inner monologue. “But . . . how do I deal with all the assholes that are  _going_ to make fun of me? I’m gonna get it like crazy come Monday!”

“The five minutes are up,” a new voice interrupted. The door to Henrietta’s bedroom closed behind Pete and Michael, who stood side by side with matching flat expressions on their faces. “And, to answer your question, just ignore them. All those conformists and posers, they have the attention spans of fucking squirrels, and they’ll forget about it by the end of the day, tops.”

“I _can’t_ ignore them!” Tweek screeched, his hands flying up to his hair and tugging harshly at several blonde tufts. “They’re going to follow me around all day, and they’ll corner me during lunch and beat me up and tie me to the flagpole naked and let people throw rocks and dirt at me all day!”

“Stop pulling your hair,” Henrietta commanded, not lifting a hand to remove Tweek’s fingers from his hair, but also not letting his subtle self-harm go unrecognized. “You’re going to go bald by the time you’re twenty-five. And they won’t corner you at lunch because you’ll be behind the school with us.”

“That just means I cornered myself  _for_ them!”

As the conversation progressed, Pete and Michael made their way to their positions assumed before they’d been kicked out by Henrietta, and, as he passed, Pete put an awkward hand to Tweek’s head, patting him a couple times. “Pain is temporary. You shouldn’t fear it.”

“But I _do_! What else am I supposed to fear? That’s the only logical thing someone  _can_ fear, getting beaten to the point of near fucking death!”

“It’s not logical to fear the inevitable,” Pete responded. “You could get hit by a car tomorrow morning, but that doesn’t mean you won’t leave your house.”

“That’s a  _horrible_ example --”

“If it makes you feel any better, we’ll be right there next to you,” Michael interrupted.

Henrietta nodded her agreement. “One of us gets hurt, we all get hurt. So if you’re afraid of being alone again, you don’t have to be. You’re never going to get any lonelier than you are right now.”

Tweek wasn’t sure if that made him feel any better, but it confused him into calming down, so he supposed that their attempts at soothing his panic worked. “But I don’t want  _you guys_  to get hurt.”

“And we don’t want you to get hurt.”

Tweek’s freak-out had officially been squashed. The indifference, and yet deliberate care that the goth kids displayed when talking to him had, once again, reassured Tweek that he really wasn’t actually alone. Even if his brain tried to convince him that the goth kids were as finished with him as everyone else was, they would do something, say something, and it’d make him feel better.

So he nodded gratefully, with a long sigh and small smile. “Okay,” was all he could bring himself to say.

There was a comfortable silence.

“There’s a new body in the graveyard,” Pete said finally. “Just got buried yesterday morning. Do you guys want to go meet them?”

If befriending the goths kids did at least one thing for Tweek, it had eased some of the fears that had been instilled in him growing up. One of those fear being to avoid graveyards at night. But with the goth kids, the bodies felt like just that -- bodies. People. Normal people. The bodies of normal people, who, for the most part, just wanted someone fresh to  spend time with. That put things into perspective; the goth kids put a lot of things into perspective for Tweek.

And that was why he was so grateful for them, and why he sometimes found himself thankful that the other kids started ignoring him one day, for seemingly no reason. Because if he had never lost all his friends, he  wouldn’t have had the ones he did then. And, when he compared his lives before and after the goth kids, he could confidently say that he was in  _much_ better company.


	2. Chapter Two

The first time Craig had talked to Tweek after the start of middle school, they were both fourteen and in eighth grade. Even though he’d been shunned a whole year, Tweek was still getting used to being invisible to everyone, and would watch his surroundings nervously just in case people suddenly wanted to talk to him again, either of befriend him or start taunting him like Tweek had been afraid of for a very long time.

Tweek was so focused on his surroundings, actually, that he tripped over his untied shoelaces and his books clattered to the floor, papers slipping from his binders and fluttering down around him. Tweek shrieked, both embarrassed at his stumble, and also because he was nervous to stoop to his knees and make himself vulnerable to the students of the wasp nest of a high school he attended.

Students walked by him, barely acknowledging his existence. One kid, with combat boots and ripped jeans, stepped on one of Tweek’s papers, leaving a noticeable footprint and ruining all further use. Tweek grunted irritably, frantically starting to pick up his wayward schoolwork as fast as he could so he could leave.

Tweek had a considerably messy collection of papers in front of him, and he still had quite a few more to pick up, but, just when he reached for a worksheet with the diagram of the nervous system, it was already picked up by someone. Expecting it to be Clyde or some other dickhead, (even though most people couldn’t have been bothered to pay Tweek any attention, including to antagonize him), Tweek glanced up with narrowed eyes, ready on the offense in case he was being ambushed.

But it wasn’t Clyde or some other dickhead.

It was someone much better, someone that made Tweek’s insides turn to mush and his jaw fall.

It was blue-clad, middle-finger-raising, pretty-eyed Craig Tucker, who was on his knees just a few feet away from Tweek and starting a small pile of his own. He wasn’t looking at Tweek; in fact, if Tweek stared long enough, he could’ve convinced himself that Craig was picking up his own lost papers that just so happened to clatter to the floor amongst Tweek’s. But Craig wasn’t picking up his own papers. He was . . . helping Tweek?

Terrified, Tweek only allowed himself to stare for a few seconds, before he shook his head and tried to get himself together faster than before.

Not even half a minute later, Tweek’s notes were all collected, and it was then that he realized he couldn’t ignore Craig anymore. He had to acknowledge him, as horrifying a prospect as that was. Hesitantly, he glanced up from beneath his eyelashes, and started when he found Craig was already looking at him. His face was blank, lids at half mast, his mouth in an almost-frown. They stared at each other for a few seconds, eyes blinking slowly and sizing one another up.

Finally, Craig cleared his throat and rose to his feet, adjusting the stack in his hands so it was neater and easier to carry. Tweek followed Craig’s lead, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and holding the papers to his chest tightly, in case he twitched too hard and let them drop again. Tweek was sure Craig wouldn’t stick around to help him a second time, and he was too self-conscious to allow himself to falter again.

Craig walked over to Tweek and handed him the notes with an outstretched hand. Tweek took them wordlessly, and looked up at Craig, ( _When did he get so fucking tall?_ Tweek thought), and waited patiently for a much-needed explanation.

“You’re clumsy,” he said simply, voice flat and indifferent.

Not expecting the insult, Tweek was stunned, but only for a moment. Quickly enough, his stare dropped to a glare, eyes narrowed and lips quirked angrily. Fuck the fact that he was Craig, Tweek already _knew_ he was clumsy, and he didn’t appreciate being reminded, especially in the middle of a semi-busy hallway where there was the very real possibility of other kids joining in and taunting Tweek, too. “Oh yeah? Well you’re a _dick_.”

Once the words left his mouth, Tweek smacked his lips closed and squeezed his eyes shut. Cursing himself for being a fucking moron, Tweek groaned, hoping against hope that it was possible for him to just teleport back to his bedroom so he could hide under his covers for the rest of eternity.

But when Tweek opened his eyes out necessity for his safety, he witnessed the unspeakable.

Craig Tucker  _smiled_. It was close-lipped, and hardly showed on his mouth, but it was all in the eyes. They shined, and Tweek furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, staring as he tried to figure out what about Tweek calling him a dick made Craig happy enough to smile.

“You wouldn’t be the first one to say so,” Craig answered, and, before Tweek could question him, Craig shook his head, that smile still on his face, and he turned around and walked away.

Tweek watched him leave, and was in a daze for the rest of the day.

* * *

On a separate, and yet similarly confusing occasion, Tweek found himself sitting in the back row of detention, after getting caught smoking behind the school by the wrong teacher. Henrietta, Pete, and Michael were with him, too, and they all seemed very indifferent to their surroundings, almost relaxed. Tweek had gotten detention many times; for the most part, he was given detention by the same teacher. Mrs. Osbourne, the health instructor that clearly hated her job. She also hated smoking, and it seemed like, when she was in a bad mood, she hunted the goth kids down just to catch them in the act. She also gave Tweek detention for disrupting class, even though it was almost never his fault. Sometimes Tweek just couldn’t keep his noises to himself, especially when the teacher called on him without prompting and was condescending and rude when he didn’t know the answer. Tweek was sure she was out to get him, and the goth kids agreed. Which meant Mrs. Osbourne got salt in her coffee on more than one occasion, and seemed to ‘misplace’ students’ tests regularly, to her immense confusion.

That detention was no different from any other. It was a Friday, so it sucked more than usual, but the start was otherwise uneventful. Tweek was sitting at a table with his friends at the back of the room, a drawing pad in front of him and a thermos of coffee clutched in his hands. He was in the middle of a drawing; while the goth kids wrote poetry and short stories, Tweek illustrated for them. He specialized in large, empty-eyed people, with a side of a grotesque, possessing monsters. Pete in particular enjoyed his drawings, often offering Tweek compliments whenever he finished an artwork. (Although the compliments were hardly more than, “That’s creepy and weird. I like it.”)

The room detention was assigned in was on the smaller side, and it seemed like a popular day for getting in trouble, because there were almost no seats left. Which meant that someone was almost certain to sit beside Tweek. That, in and of itself didn’t bother him; with his friends around, Tweek was more at ease than he was when he was alone. And he knew if anyone tried to talk shit to him, the goth kids were filled to the brim with unbridled snark, so all he would have to do was sit back and watch.

Detention had started approximately ten minutes ago, and Tweek had trouble gathering the inspiration to continue his drawing. It was half-completed, sure, but he had difficulty deciding where to pick up from. The body could use some work; the face could do well with more details around the eyes and mouth; Tweek hadn’t even started the background, although he had decided to save that for last.

Tweek’s mind had wandered to some distant spot in space, imaging the completion of his drawing, when he heard a sudden voice speak, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.

“Mr. Tucker,” Mrs. Osbourne said tightly. “You’re late.”

Craig shrugged, but didn’t bother to offer a reason for his tardiness.

“You may pull up a seat beside Mr. Tweak.” Mrs. Osbourne nodded in Tweek’s direction, eyes accusing despite the fact that Tweek was doing little besides sitting and drinking coffee. “Do try not to speak to him, I don’t think my brain can handle much more of his noises.”

Tweek was used to Mrs. Osbourne talking about him like that, so he was hardly fazed. He chanced a glance in Craig’s direction, and noticed a disgruntled expression on Craig’s face, but he didn’t respond. He just turned around blankly, and started walking in Tweek’s direction, fiddling with the strap of his backpack.

Holding his breath, Tweek watched as Craig progressively grew closer. His eyes were blank, so void of anything, but they were fixed in Tweek’s direction, unblinking and unashamed in his staring.

Carefully lowering himself into the seat beside Tweek, Craig hadn’t yet looked away, and Tweek couldn’t bring himself to either. It wasn’t often that Tweek got a direct view of Craig’s baby blue eyes, so he was determined to make the most of it before they could shift away from him.

And it took quite awhile for that to happen. So long, in fact, that Tweek almost looked away first.

“Why are you here?” Craig asked eventually, voice low so that Mrs. Osbourne couldn’t hear him.

Tweek twitched at having been addressed, but all he could make out was a hoarse, “Reasons.”

Craig nodded. “Same.”

The table fell silent. The goth kids were all outlining additions to their poems and stories. Tweek had seen their collection; factoring in the writings of all three, they had produced a decent stack of notebooks, dating back to second grade. (After Firkle had betrayed them when Tweek’s class was in fourth grade, they burned his writings without offering to give them back to him.) They refused to look into any notebooks originating before middle school, as that was the era the goth kids deemed the start of their actually decent musings. The rest, they concluded, was “poser, emo bullshit, how the fuck did we think that was good?”

Tweek, himself, had figured a place to begin his draft. He was adding minute detail to the eyes, a sheen of loneliness in the way they stared into the viewer, drawing swoops of bags below the lower lids. He was lost in his illustration, tongue sticking out between his teeth as he concentrated.

Detention was half over when Craig spoke again. His voice was absent and contemplative, simple in his conclusion. “Your drawing is creepy.”

Tweek’s attention jerked to the chullo-wearing teen beside him, and he noticed, shocked, that Craig was watching Tweek’s drawing with rapt deliberation, impressed, it seemed, as his mouth tilted downwards. Tweek whined and slammed the drawing pad closed, twitching violently and hissing as quietly as he could manage, “ _Oh, God!_ ”

Craig shrugged. “It’s a good thing.”

Blinking quickly as if that would somehow clarify the bizarre nature of the situation, Tweek glanced between the cover of his drawing pad and Craig’s unwavering gaze. “Uh . . . oh.”

“Yeah.”

The two fell into silence again, and didn’t talk to each other for the rest of detention, although Tweek caught Craig staring at him periodically, only to observe in confusion as Craig jerked his eyes away.

It made Tweek anxious, it made him nervous, it made him question his social standing in his high school, as he was sure the entire population had forgotten his existence. But it seemed like Craig, the only conformist that mattered, hadn’t.

Mind racing, Tweek looked over to his friends, breathing deeply as he reassured himself that they would gladly jerk him back to the reality of his position in their school, that even in his wildest fantasies, Tweek couldn’t hope to receive more than partially-awkward small-talk from Craig. Tweek was surprised when he noticed Michael was already watching him, chin propped in his palm, and his pen tapping on the faux-wooden table. When he caught Tweek’s eye, he raised an eyebrow, silently asking just what the fuck was going on between him and Craig.

Tweek shrugged sheepishly, unable to give an answer, and he turned his attention back to his drawing pad, opening it subtly and propping it against the edge of the desk so that only he could see it.

Twenty minutes later, once Mrs. Osbourne dismissed the detention, the room cleared out fairly quickly, as everyone was eager to leave for the weekend. Watching Craig uneasily out of the corner of his eyes, Tweek felt his anxiety build in his veins at the fact that him and Craig were going their separate ways, and he had no idea what to say. He didn’t even know if he was . . . _allowed_? to say goodbye to him, considering they never talked to each other _ever_ , and Craig was amongst the more popular conformists, with popular conformist friends that were absolute dicks all the time for no reason.

But Craig didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry. He put the notebook he’d been doodling absently in back in his backpack carefully, shuffling the other notebooks and binders around so that none of the papers would bend upwards, or fold in half. He zipped his backpack up at a regular speed, seemingly indifferent to the fact that he was prolonging his stay at their shitty high school when he definitely didn’t have to.

The goth kids didn’t believe in hurrying anywhere for any reason, so they always took their time getting their belongings ready. Henrietta was still finishing a sentence while the vast majority of the room had already left. And Tweek didn’t have much going for him back at home, so it didn’t matter where he was, so long as he was close to his friends. They were always the last ones out of detention, even if it meant Tweek had to deal with an unnecessarily loathing glare from Mrs. Osbourne.

Once Craig put himself together, he slipped his backpack over his shoulder and stood still for a few seconds, his hands in his sweatshirt pocket and a flat expression on his face. He must’ve been thinking about something important, Tweek concluded, staring unabashedly at Craig as he lifted his eyes to the ceiling and gave himself a nod.

It seemed like time stopped as soon as Craig’s gaze dropped to Tweek’s. They watched each other for a short while, not saying anything.

A ping from Craig’s pocket jolted the both of them from whatever they were stuck in, and Craig grumbled irritably, yanking his phone from his pocket and tapping a few buttons on the screen. His eyes swept across the screen quickly, and then he groaned, rolling his eyes and typing something angrily, before shoving the phone back into his pocket. “Fucking Clyde,” he said angrily under his breath. Shaking his head, Craig looked back at Tweek, and his frustration melted away when he caught Tweek’s wide, concerned eyes. Craig’s mouth opened, and then closed again.

“Um. ‘Bye Tweek,” Craig said awkwardly. It was an uncomfortable farewell, sure, but there was something in the way Craig had said Tweek’s name, like it was something he didn’t get to say often, and he relished in the moment that he could. He gave Tweek one last glance before turning around and exiting the classroom.

Tweek waved, confused. “‘Bye?” Even though Craig was long gone and definitely couldn’t hear him, Tweek at least wanted to get the word out.

When Tweek couldn’t watch the empty open door anymore, he turned back to his friends, and he was met with the probing stares of the other goth kids, all curious and determined to suck answers out of Tweek’s anxious body.

“What the hell was that about?” Pete asked, hair flipping to the side.

Tweek clutched the thermos to his chest protectively, his notebook pressed between his forearm and the side of his chest. “I don’t know,” he said distantly, eyes drifting away as he fought to find a reason for Craig’s courtesies. “That’s the first time he’s talked to me in, like, a year, man!”

“He’s talked to you?” Michael asked. “When?”

“I tripped,” Tweek said. “And I dropped everything, and Craig helped me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“ _Craig_ helped you?” Henrietta asked.

“Yeah,” Tweek confirmed, a blush heating up his face. “Yeah, he did. He was really nice.”

The words weren’t spoken, but they were understood: Tweek had a huge crush on a conformist, and it was very obvious. The goth kids were for sure never going to mention it if Tweek didn’t first, but they knew, and Tweek figured that was all that mattered. As long as they didn’t make fun of him for it, but knowing his friends, that wasn’t something he knew he had to worry about.

* * *

Craig talked to him once more, a simple occasion, prompting only a few words. But Tweek held those words to heart, and dreamt of them, and couldn’t get them out of his head.

Clumsy and anxious as ever, Tweek dropped his pencil in the middle of class, and it rolled halfway across the room. It was Tweek’s only writing utensil, which meant Tweek had no way of taking anymore notes. (Or, more accurately, doodling an idea for his latest drawing, but the teacher didn’t need to know that.) He groaned to himself and accepted the fact that he was pencil-less until he could harass Henrietta for another in the next class they shared. Because there was no way in hell Tweek was going to stand up and retrieve it himself. And he for sure wasn’t going to ask someone to get it for him.

So he just hunched over in his chair and allowed himself to get lost in easily-forgettable daydreams.

He had been out of commission for an indeterminable amount of time when he felt a finger tap his shoulder. Tweek shrieked, jerking upright in his chair. He smacked a hand to his mouth, but the class didn’t falter in the slightest, so used to Tweek’s noises everyone was.

Shaking his head to clear it, Tweek turned around, and his eyes widened when he saw who had the guts to touch him.

Craig was holding a pen, hand outstretched, silently asking Tweek to take it from him. Mouth open in awe, Tweek did, and their fingers brushed ever-so slightly. Tweek jolted, yanking his hand to his chest protectively, fingers trembling as they closed around the capped pen so tight he was sure it would explode.

Composing himself as quickly as he could, Tweek looked to Craig for an explanation.

Craig’s face was drawn blank, although Tweek could’ve sworn his cheeks were pink, disrupting his almost-perfect olive skin. His body language suggested Tweek wasn’t going to receive a reason for Craig’s kindness: he folded his arms over his chest, the fingers of one hand drumming on his upper arm, and he silently watched Tweek as Tweek tried to come up with something to say.

“Uh . . . thanks,” Tweek said finally, his voice shaking and quiet, partially confused.

“No problem,” was Craig’s answer, and that was that.

It was an insignificant exchange, but it held claim over Tweek’s mind for the rest of the day.

* * *

Come Monday, Tweek was sure that he was on the verge of a heart attack. The moment they stepped into the school, Pete offered to skip with him, a notion which was backed by Henrietta and Michael. But Tweek had declined, because he knew that if he prolonged the confrontation, it would just be worse. Him kissing one of the most popular guys in school wasn’t going to go down without acknowledgement, and Tweek was aware of that, and he . . . accepted it?

But every sound made him jump, every word that sounded vaguely like his name made him almost lose his cool, his eyes flitting to catch any sight of Clyde, Stan, or even Craig, although, for some reason, they were MIA for the majority of the day.

Until fourth period, just as Tweek was heading to the back of the school with Henrietta, Michael and Pete. None of the goth kids usually ate lunch, instead taking turns stealing the good coffee out of the teachers lounge and going to their standard place on the stoop by the back door. They smoked and drank coffee, and either shared ideas for collaborations, or they sat in silence and listened to music. There was a fluidity, a comfort, in their routine, and that fluidity and comfort was dashed when a voice called out,

“Ah, Tweek.”

Tweek froze, his muscles seizing and locking and he reluctantly turned to face whoever was speaking to him.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

There they stood. Clyde and Stan, arms folded over their chests and smirks on their faces. Tweek’s eyes flew open as wide as they could, just to catch the slightest movement from them on the off chance they were going to attack him, which, Tweek considered, wasn’t exactly an outrageous possibility.

Tweek’s nervous eyes wandering all around him was partially due to the fact that Tweek was not-so-subtly searching for Craig, if only to store in the back of his mind that he was _there_. And Craig was nice, at least to Tweek, at least up until that point, and Tweek knew that if Craig was around, the . . . punishment? (if that was the right word for it) wouldn’t have been as bad. Craig might’ve even been able to stop it, postpone it, save him. The goth kids could help, sure, but none of them were exactly adept at fighting. They mostly sat on the sidelines and made condescending comments that always pissed people off but made Tweek giggle. So if Stan and Clyde did decide to beat Tweek up, he hadn’t a hope of survival on his own.

Standing up against the quarterback and one of the more successful linebackers was sure to complicate Tweek’s day. Complicate, in that Tweek didn’t want to miss fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth period just because he was confined to a hospital room with internal bleeding and several broken bones.

They were capable of it. And if they wanted to, they could.

So Tweek swept the deserted hallway for _any_ sign of Craig, just to see if he had a hope, but there wasn’t a chullo in sight. Perhaps Tweek was under the impression that Craig’s presence would offer him some semblance of protection, despite the fact that Tweek was all-too aware that Craig had no real reason to help him. To choose Tweek over his friends? It was unthinkable, and Tweek cursed himself for hoping.  

“You looking for Craig?”

Tweek shrieked helplessly, his hands reaching up to his hair and pulling tightly. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. Even if he knew how to respond, he couldn’t have been able to get the words out.

“You’re not going to find him here,” Clyde continued. “He’s off with his _girlfriend_. You know. Because he’s _not_ gay.”

“I’m not either!” Tweek exclaimed, perhaps too quickly, voice high-pitched, weak, and unconvincing. It was clear that he was, or that he liked guys, at least. Enough to lose control and kiss one in a room full of people that obviously didn’t like him.

“You expect me to believe that?” Clyde eyed Tweek disdainfully. “I’m not dumb.”

“Well, I mean, debatable,” Stan said, looking at Clyde like his statement jumped the gun just a little.

“Shut up, dude,” Clyde snapped, a distant whine at the back of his throat.

“It’s true --”

“We’re not here for me!” Clyde huffed, irritably, childishly.

“Come near Tweek and you will regret ever waddling out of your football-printed footie pajamas this morning.”

Tweek’s soul nearly ripped itself from his body when he heard Henrietta speak. He’d completely forgotten that his friends were with him; he was absolutely terrified. He had seen what his ex friends were capable of; fuck, he’d been involved in some of their exploits. They could be very, very dangerous when they wanted to be, and, judging by the smirks on their faces, they really, really wanted to be.

Stan folded his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. “What are _you_ gonna do? Sit on us?”

Tweek jerked his eyes to Henrietta’s face, worry pooling in his chest. He couldn’t imagine what a comment like that from Stan could do to her; if Tweek had heard similar words directed at him from Craig, he would’ve been a total wreck. And he would’ve had no hope of hiding it.

But instead of seeing Henrietta’s doll-like face crumple, Tweek felt a surge of admiration for her when he saw that her forever-blank expression hadn’t slipped in the slightest. He envied her ability to mask her emotions as she did; she just stood in the same position, a palm resting on her forearm and her eyes leveled and indifferent.

“If it’ll get you to leave Tweek alone, asshole, then sure,” she answered.

“Well we wouldn’t want that,” Clyde said, a snort of amusement interrupting Tweek’s concern and bringing him back to the fact that he was essentially being stared down by the jockiest, dickiest, most obnoxious guys in the whole school. And they were taunting him.

“And what about you two?” Stan said, gesturing with his head to Pete and Michael, who had remained, for the most part, silent spectators.

Michael blinked, eyes half-lidded with indifference, if not slight irritation. “ _What_ about us?”

“You have something to say, too?”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “You guys are assholes that probably blow each other in the locker room and then go home to your cheerleader girlfriends and pretend that you’re totally straight? Is that what you wanted?”

“It’ll give us a reason to kick your ass,” Stan said with a nod. He didn’t appear, at least to Tweek, to be offended by the accusation.

“Leave them alone, douchebags,” Henrietta said calmly, a slight edge to her voice being the only indication of her anger.

“Did you hear that? She called us ‘douchebags’!” Clyde held a hand dramatically over his heart. “Time to hang up the fucking cleats!”

Stan snorted, amused, but before he could say anything else, Tweek growled and spat emphatically, “If you’re going to beat me up for being gay, just fucking do it already! If you’re not, then leave us alone!” Had he been alone, Tweek wouldn’t have dared speak to the two of them like that, but Stan and Clyde were, for some reason, going after his friends, and Tweek felt that protectiveness rear it’s somewhat ugly but also very adorable head. He knew he would never be thanked outright by his friends for standing up for them, but he also knew that they appreciated it. And it was that appreciation, and the fact that Tweek liked keeping them safe, that prompted Tweek to draw his posture upright and glare straight ahead of him. (Or, more accurately, slightly up and ahead of him, as Stan and Clyde were much, much taller than poor, 5’5’’ Tweek.)

But, unexpectedly, Clyde waved Tweek off and said dismissively, “I don’t give a fuck about that.”

“I don’t, either,” Stan agreed. “Be gay, whatever. Doesn’t affect us. It’s the fact that you’re after,” Stan chuckled, shaking his head as if the notion was ridiculous. “ _Craig_. Like. I hate Craig with every fiber of my being, but fuck, even I know he’s never gonna go for you.”

“And he’s not gay,” Clyde tacked on. “Which makes it even funnier.”

“Little gay boy in love with a straight guy. That must suck for you.”

“I don’t love him,” Tweek tried, although, even to him, it came out weak and not confident in the slightest. “He’s a dick, just like you guys.”

“No, he’s not,” Clyde said with a laugh.

“He’s really not, as much as that irritates me,” Stan added. “He’s the only one that didn’t understand why we left your ass behind.”

I _don’t understand why you left me behind_ , Tweek thought miserably, but he daren’t say it aloud. Instead, he asked warily, “If you’re not going to beat me up, then what do you want?”

Clyde shrugged. “We just thought we’d politely inform you that Craig doesn’t like you, and won’t ever like you. He’s hilariously out of your league, so just give up. Craig doesn’t care enough to say it, but we don’t want you to have false hope.”

“You should _thank_ us,” Stan said.

“The one time you care about something, and it doesn’t care back,” Clyde said thoughtfully. “It’s sad.”

Michael blinked slowly in Clyde’s direction, his knuckles white as he gripped his cane. “That’s where you conformist assholes are always wrong. You think that, just because we don’t conform to your Ken and Barbie bullshit fake lives, we don’t care about anything. We just don’t care about you, or your pseudo-happiness. We know it’s all fake, but we don’t feel bad for you for going along with everyone else like a couple of pathetic lemmings. Death’ll swallow you whole one day, and we won’t be sorry.”

 _Henrietta will_ , Tweek thought sadly, his fear of Craig’s dickhead friends simmering to a light anxiety for a brief moment. His worry for his best friend hopped to the front of his mind, and he kept glancing at her to make sure she was okay. She wasn’t, and Tweek knew that, but her stoicism hadn’t broken in the slightest. It was impressive, how easily she could keep a secret.

Michael’s rant seemed to get to Stan and Clyde, but in a subtle, hardly noticeable way, Stan in particular. Perhaps it was because he used to be friends with them, and had been hoping that, even though Stan didn’t want to hang out with them, they wanted to hang out with him. His loneliness, that was evident to the all-too-lonely Tweek, inflated his ego, while also knocking his self esteem to it’s knees. It was obvious that he just wanted people to want him, even if he was going to dismiss them in the end.

“At least I won’t kill myself by the time I’m twenty-two. Like you guys’ll ever find someone to fuck you, let alone date you. No one’ll stoop that low.”

Tweek huffed, folding his arms over his chest. “Like you’ll ever find someone to _love_ you. You keep bouncing between girlfriends, you’re going to run out of options. You’ll have to settle with someone, but if you keep dumping girls like you don’t care about them, _no one’ll_ want to date you. Because _no one’ll_ stoop that low.”

Stan’s face feel, but he collected himself quickly and glared at Tweek. “Shut the fuck up, you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about --”

He was interrupted by the presence of someone else, someone calmer and prepared to stop the conflict before it could get out of hand. And, judging by the legitimately angry expression on Stan’s face, that was likely to happen, and fairly soon.

“Stan, Clyde,” Kyle said, coming to a stop beside Stan and watching him intently. He seemed to notice how worked up Stan was. “I just bumped into Token. He said Coach wants to have an emergency meeting in the gym. He wasn’t sure though, he just heard it through the grapevine, but you know how Coach can be sometimes.” Kyle was _technically_ on the football team, but only as the coach’s assistant. He didn’t play; he spent the majority of the school year playing basketball during the proper basketball season in the winter, and he did student-run practices during the fall and spring months, and participated in the municipal program during the summer. He ate, drank, and slept basketball, but he missed hanging out with the guys, so he sat on the sidelines and hung out with them between drills. After three-hour long basketball practices, Kyle didn’t want to move if he absolutely didn’t have to, so he decided to sit out practices to give his aching body a rest.

Clyde and Stan exchanged glances. They did know how their coach was. Even though they didn’t play actual games, (as it was the off-season, nearing summer in the next couple weeks), he could be very strict and angry if they messed up, and, because they didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of blowing off meetings, they sighed collectively.

“Ugh, fine,” Clyde said, turning his attention back to Tweek and the goth kids. “It’s been fun, dickheads, but we don’t want to die, so I guess we’ll finish this up later.”

“You go on ahead,” Kyle said, “I’ll meet you guys in the gym.”

Clyde shook his head, annoyed at the fact that the confrontation was cut short in favor of facing their temperamental coach, (if Kyle was even telling the truth, but Clyde was gullible enough to believe it), he turned around and started down the hallway without another word. But, as Stan walked away, he delivered Tweek a furious scowl and flipped him off with more ferocity than was really necessary. Tweek flinched, but held himself strong for appearances, even though he was twitching nervously on the inside. Maybe he had a stronger poker face than he thought, probably courtesy of Henrietta and the others.

Once Stan and Clyde had turned the corner and left, Kyle faced the goths and Tweek, that calm expression still on his face. “It’d probably be good if you stopped being gay around them,” Kyle warned Tweek, his voice lowered to a tone of . . . comfort, was most likely his intention, but it sent Tweek back on edge, and, although he appreciated Kyle’s interference, he wasn’t totally put at ease. “They’ll just keep making fun of you for liking Craig. If you want them to leave you alone, just . . . stop, okay?”

Either way, Tweek nodded his head quickly, refusing to move his eyes away from Kyle on the off-chance the assurance of safety was a disguise for a sneak-attack.

“Okay,” Kyle said, satisfied. “I don’t think I’ll be able to distract them a second time, so just . . . lay low.”

Tweek nodded again, the words, “Okay, just fucking leave,” hanging off the tip of his tongue, but refusing to find it’s way from his mouth.

When the hallway was deserted, save Tweek and his friends, an uneasy silence swept the four of them.

It was broken by Henrietta. “Tweek?” There was a lingering, “Are you okay?” going unspoken, but translating in her tone.

Tweek shook his head wildly and took a few shaky steps back. “I -- GAH! I gotta go, gotta . . . outside, get some . . . air --”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from them; all Tweek knew that he was once again very thankful that his best friends believed in space: Pete just flipped his hair to the side when it fell in his eyes, and said, “Okay. We’ll be in our usual spot. Come find us when you’re ready.”

* * *

Tweek wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, he was just going . . . away.

Perhaps secluding himself from everyone was a bad idea, in case Clyde and Stan found him again. But Clyde and Stan were conformists through and through, and they didn’t normally skip class. They had dreams of grandeur, and, because they were nearing the end of junior year, they knew it was time to quit screwing around and focus on their future.

 _Their future_ , Tweek thought with a scoff, taking a long, comforting drag of his lit cigarette. Their future was bullshit. They were going to marry their high school sweethearts, (if Stan could fucking decide on one), and they were going to stay in South Park, and have 2.5 kids, and have barbecues every weekend and invite the whole neighborhood. They were going to fake it, because no one _really_ wanted that life. They just wanted to be normal. They wanted to conform.

Tweek dropped the cigarette to the ground as soon as it neared the end, stomping on it irritably, and then reached into his pocket for another when a familiar voice spoke.

“Tweek?”

Head jerking to see if the voice belonged to the person Tweek thought it did, (maybe, deep down, hoped it did), Tweek shrieked and hopped back a few steps when he saw Craig a few paces away, head tilted thoughtfully and eyes calculating and calm.

“Craig? What are _you_ doing here?!”

Craig shrugged, leaning against one of the support beams of the bleachers and shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. “Skipping. I was gonna go home and sneak through my window, but I saw you run back here, and decided to follow you.”

Tweek’s eyes flitted around him wildly, trying to find something grounding to land on. He found nothing. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here!”

It might’ve been a trick of the light, but Tweek could’ve sworn he saw Craig’s cheeks turn a light pink. “You looked . . . panicked.”

Tweek waited for an elaboration that didn’t come. “Okay, _and_?!”

“And I . . . wanted to see if you were . . . okay.” Craig’s face grimaced ever so slightly, as if he were dissatisfied with his own explanation. “I just ran into the guys, and --”

“Idon’twanttotalkaboutit,” Tweek rushed out, not willing to listen to Craig give a half-correct recap of the encounter Tweek had just suffered through. Craig’s friends were dicks; they probably made it sound like Tweek had cornered them and tried to make out with one of them. Or that he was engaging in some other extremely-gay behaviors. And Tweek didn’t want to listen to that. He very much didn’t, actually.

Craig seemed to understand. “Okay.” He walked closer so that they were an appropriate distance for two acquaintances conversing amiably. “So what are you doing back here? Where are Henrietta and Pete and Michael?”

Tweek twitched harshly, his head jerking to the side and one of his eyes squeezing shut. “I wanted to get away,” he mumbled. “And, actually, uh -- is it okay if I?” Tweek lifted up his cigarette box in place of verbalizing his question.

Craig shrugged. “I don’t care.” With a grateful sigh, Tweek pulled a lighter from his pocket, and, balancing a cigarette between his fingers, he flicked the flame just beneath the end. When the paper caught, Tweek sucked in a sharp, relaxed breath.

The two were silent for a few moments, in which Tweek took irregular puffs of his cigarette and Craig watched out of the corner of his eyes.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

Tweek eyes jerked over to Craig. “What?” he asked, taken aback by Craig’s presumptuous statement.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Craig repeated. “It’s, like, really bad for you. You can get . . . I don’t know, cancer, and everything.” He hummed softly, his eyes sweeping Tweek’s face, briefly fixating on the sight of his lips wrapped around the cigarette. “I never took you for the type.”

“I’ve gotten used to it,” Tweek answered nervously. “Happens when you’ve smoked for so long.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You --” Tweek’s mouth went dry at the sincere, non-bullshitting expression on Craig’s face. “But . . . how did you know I smoked? Are you _stalking_ me?” Tweek asked anxiously.

“No,” Craig said simply, his nonchalance not setting Tweek’s nerves to rest in the slightest. “I’ve seen you. And you . . . tasted like it. At the party.”

Tweek didn’t expect Craig to bring up his misstep so casually, so easily, and so without hesitation. Tweek was content to store that memory at the back of his mind, (purposefully cutting it off just before he was interrupted by the laughter of his classmates), and never speak of it again, but Craig didn’t seem so willing to store it away like that.

“Oh,” Tweek said under his breath, incapable of saying much more.

There was another beat of silence.

“And I know it’s not my place, but I’m serious. You could die.”

Tweek’s head jerked to the side involuntarily. “Yeah, I know all about it.”

“And you smoke anyway?”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“But it bothers other people. It bothers me.”

Tweek glanced at Craig out of the corner of his eye. “If it bothers you, you don’t have to stay. I’ll be okay here on my own. I’m used to that too.”

Craig shook his head. “I’m fine with the smell and everything, it’s just the you dying part I have a problem with.”

With narrowed eyes, Tweek scrutinized the concern on Craig’s face. He was right before: it wasn’t his place. And his criticism wasn’t welcome. Tweek already knew how bad smoking was. He couldn’t avoid the Smoking Kills adverts, and it was printed on every pack of cigarettes he bought. Lung cancer, mouth cancer, all over cancer, Tweek already _knew_ about that. The only thing that made him hesitate was the ‘second-hand smoke’ thing, but Tweek didn’t spend enough time around people that didn’t smoke for that to be a big problem.

Wanting to jab Craig back for his judgement, Tweek lifted his cigarette up in a sarcastic, bitter sort of toast and said, “You’re a conformist.”

“No I’m not,” Craig said, frowning.

“Yeah, you are.”

“I don’t give a fuck about anything, how can I be a conformist?”

“That doesn’t matter. I give a fuck about _everything_ , but I’m not a conformist, because those two have nothing to do with each other. You’re the star pitcher on the fucking baseball team, and you went to junior prom, and you get invited to parties hosted by fucking _Bebe Stevens_ , man! You’re a conformist!”

The look on Craig’s face told Tweek that he had mildly offended the other boy. “Just because I do all those things doesn’t mean I like it. If I start doing the things I actually like, I’ll turn into an outcast, like —“

“Like me,” Tweek finished.

Craig didn’t say so in that many words, but with his sigh and his wandering eyes, Tweek understood what he meant.

“Yeah, well,” Tweek said quickly, annoyed. “I guess I can understand that.” Tweek dropped his cigarette on the ground and stomped it beneath the toe of his shoe. He leaned back against a support pole and slid down it, plopping on his behind and letting his legs sprawl out in front of him. Fixing his eyes to sky, Tweek tried to pretend like Craig wasn’t there.

Craig didn’t do anything for a long time, and Tweek was almost sure he was just going to shrug and walk away. Because Tweek was aware that he wasn’t being the best conversationalist, and he knew he was never really all that great at being a conversationalist. And Craig wasn’t exactly known for being patient, especially in the face of someone like Tweek, who tried the patience of everyone around him.

“You’re acting different than you did at the party,” Craig said finally, sitting himself onto the ground beside Tweek and pulling his knees up to his chest.

“I’ve realized some things since then, and it’s changed my perspective on . . . um, _things_.”

“Things?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of things?”

“Things that I don’t really want to talk about right now.”

“That’s fair.”

The two settled into semi-comfortable, but mostly tense, silence.

It was broken by Tweek, who leaned his head against the metal, swallowing tightly as the comfort of being around Craig proved nonexistent. He spoke before he could stop himself, asking the question he’d been asking himself for five years.

“Why did you guys start ignoring me?”

It seemed as if Craig was anticipating that, because he sighed and glanced over at Tweek. “Honestly? I don’t remember.”

Tweek grunted, irritation prickling in his chest. “Bull _shit_.”

“No, I’m serious. I just woke up one morning and saw I had, like, a million text messages from this group chat I was added to. They were all just talking about how they were planning to cut you out. Something about going into middle school and having older friends? I don’t know.”

“But why did _you_ ignore me? If being my friend didn’t bother you, then why did you follow everyone else? I never _did_ anything to you guys.”

“You and I never talked much,” Craig said, shrugging. “I didn’t think you’d tell the difference.”

A flash of hot anger warmed Tweek’s chest. “You thought I wouldn’t be able to tell that all of my friends decided to just _forget_ me?”

“When you put it like that it sounds stupid --”

“That’s because it _is_ stupid, Craig!” Tweek spat. “These past few years have been shit because of you guys! The only good thing, the _only good fucking thing_ , is that now I have friends that actually, you know, _like_ me! Which is more than I can say for any of you!” Tweek was practically spitting in his fury. “I _never_ should’ve been friends with you guys, ever! I should’ve _started_ as a goth kid, and -- and also _fuck_ you! Fuck everything!”

Craig seemed taken aback by Tweek’s expulsion of rage. His shock quickly turned to sadness and he scratched underneath his hat to distract his hands. “I’m sorry, Tweek. I didn’t think I meant that much to you.”

An ache echoed in Tweek’s chest, but he swallowed it away with an irritable grumble. “You all meant a lot to me. But . . . whatever. I _apparently_ didn’t matter to any of you.”

“That’s not true,” Craig said, shaking his head sternly. “I thought you were one of my best friends. Even if we didn’t talk much.”

Tweek huffed, agitated. “You don’t have to lie to me, Craig. It’s okay, I get it, I got over it awhile ago.”

“You clearly haven’t gotten over it. And I don’t blame you. We all did a really shitty thing. And I’m sorry.”

The fact that Craig apologized, not once, but twice, made Tweek’s anger subside somewhat. The fact of the matter, however, was that Craig did leave Tweek, and he was a little late with the apology. But, at the same time, Tweek had dreamed of that moment for a very, very long time, and now that it had come true, he had trouble rationalizing it.

And the only thing he could think to say was, “It’s okay.” It wasn’t actually okay, but Craig looked so . . . sorry, he looked like he felt bad, and Tweek felt bad for making him feel bad, and it was just a shitty situation, and Tweek wanted it to end.

“It’s not,” Craig said, voice low and genuine. “I’m serious, Tweek, I liked you more than I think you realize.”

The words somehow hurt, even though Tweek wouldn’t have been able to coherently explain why or how. It gave him hope, a hope that he knew he shouldn’t have, and the profound, yet simple words reminded Tweek of something that had happened not even a half hour beforehand.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Tweek stubbed his cigarette out on the concrete beneath him. “Clyde and Stan said you were with your girlfriend.”

“ _Girlfriend_?” Craig questioned, brows furrowing. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Tweek dragged his eyes to Craig, face drawn in confusion. “But Clyde and Stan _said_ \--”

“Those guys are fucking morons, and I don’t think I want to be friends with them anymore,” Craig announced, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

Tweek blinked, surprised. “But you guys -- Clyde’s your best friend, since _preschool_ \--”

“Clyde hasn’t been my best friend for a long time,” Craig confessed. “I mean, he still pretends like we are, and I’m pretty sure he still sees me like a best friend, but he’s so different than he used to be. It’s been hard to be around him for longer than a few hours at a time. And after this weekend, I don’t really want anything to do with him. Any of them. They were all being real assholes. I left a little after you did.”

Tweek wanted to ask why, but, considering what Craig had just confided in him, he didn’t think it was the time. Because it was quite the development: Tweek was under the impression that Craig had similar thinking to his asshole counterparts. He had never proven to be that much of a dick, but he had never stood up for anyone before, which just meant he didn’t care. Tweek didn’t know Craig’s friend’s behavior was such a problem in his eyes.

Tweek’s mind was silenced when Craig scooched towards him. “And I would never have a girlfriend, because I would never want one.” Craig let the statement sink in before asking, “You know?”

It took Tweek a few seconds to understand just what that meant, and when he had a slight inclination that he was on the right track, he just about lost his head. Bells and whistles were going off insanely in his mind, and he gasped quietly. “Wait, you’re --”

“Gay,” Craig concluded nonchalantly. “Yeah.”

Tweek physically couldn’t wrap his head around how _casually_ Craig had just come out to him. It took every ounce of courage in his body to come out to the goth kids: Tweek had been sweating; his heart was beating so fast he couldn’t even feel it anymore; he was on the verge of a panic attack up until and after he’d managed to get the words out. The worst part was that he already knew what their reaction was going to be. (They all looked at him and said collectively, “Okay.”) But Craig was just watching him like he knew Tweek wasn’t going to do anything. And he wasn’t. What would he do? But perhaps Craig’s willingness to share his sexuality with Tweek stemmed from the fact that Tweek had kissed him without abandon just two days before, and that kind of spoke for itself.

Tweek couldn’t really find anything personal to say in response that would be appropriate for the moment, so he instead asked worryingly, “Do your friends know?” Because Tweek knew that Craig had some asshole friends, and even if they said they didn’t care about Tweek’s gayness, Tweek knew it was different when it was someone closer. Sometimes that made it a bigger deal, although Tweek never understood that.

Craig snorted. “They told you I had a girlfriend. No. They don’t know.”

Tweek worried his bottom lip anxiously, averting his eyes. He felt an overwhelming concern for Craig crash in his chest. “Are you going to tell them?”

“That depends.”

Tweek glanced up nervously, fiddling with the front of his shirt. “On?”

“If you’d want to hang out with me sometime.” Craig’s face was still ever-neutral, but there was an uneasiness behind his eyes that only a trained observer would be able to detect. And Tweek had watched Craig long enough to be able to tell, and it made his insides quiver that Craig was nervous around him. Around _Tweek_. Nervous, half-goth, cigarette-smoking Tweek that was terrible at sports, had half-good grades, and worked for his parents in a semi-failing coffee shop.

Calm and collected Craig was unbelievably, almost hilariously out of Tweek’s league.

“Like a --”

“Like a date,” Craig confirmed, without Tweek even needing to ask.

“With _me_?”

A smile picked at the corner of Craig’s mouth and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

“But . . .” Tweek seemed unable to answer, and was, counter-intuitively trying to show Craig why dating him was a bad idea, even if Tweek had dreamt about what it must feel like to be Craig’s boyfriend for years. “ _Why_?”

Craig shrugged. “Lots of reasons. I’ll tell you all about it, if you’d meet me at the movie theatre tonight at six.” He cleared his throat and pulled at a few stray blades of grass. “They’re showing some action movie, I can’t remember what it’s called. There are a couple other movies playing, but I thought you’d like that movie better than the romantic comedy, and the documentary about global warming. We can get dinner after, too. Wherever you want. I’m buying.”

Craig kept adding bonuses, like he thought he had to sugar Tweek up to say yes. Tweek would’ve said yes to a date with Craig even if all they did was sit next to each other in a park, and watch birds fight over birdseed. As long as he was with Craig, Tweek didn’t really care.

“You’re not -- you’re not _fucking_ with me, are you?” Tweek asked, bringing an invisible anger to his voice.

“I would never.”

Tweek narrowed his eyes. “Clyde didn’t put you up to this, did he? Because if he did, and if you’re just going along with it, I won’t hesitate to burn your house down!”

Despite the threat, Craig smiled. “You sound just like the goth kids.”

“I am a goth kid,” Tweek spat offhandedly. “Now answer the question.”

Craig reached a hand out, palm outstretched and offering itself to Tweek. Tweek glanced down at it in confusion, but, when he looked back up at Craig, there was a gentleness and fondness in his eyes that made Tweek’s chest quiver, and he grabbed Craig’s hand without a moment’s hesitation.

“Clyde did not put me up to this,” Craig answered, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. “If he knew I was here, he’d probably kick my ass. Or _try_ to. Fucking fatass doesn’t know how to throw a punch to save his life. The only person I’d have to worry about is Stan, but I’m pretty sure he’s secretly gay for Kyle, and Kyle’s not so bad, so I think I’ll be okay.”

Tweek, in all the years he’d known him, had never heard Craig speak so much in one sitting. He spoke with an ease that Tweek had no hope of achieving; Craig spoke like every word meant something, like he wasn’t wasting his breath on a single syllable. Tweek, on the other hand, was either completely silent to the point where the people around him should’ve probably started worrying, or he talked about anything and everything until the people around him probably should’ve just smacked him to just get him to stop.

“So,” Craig continued, “Is that a yes?”

“A yes,” Tweek said absently. “Oh! Yes, yes, sure, I’ll. Yeah. That’s. Okay. Yeah.”

Craig smiled. “Yeah?”

A matching smile crossed Tweek’s pale, freckled face. “Yeah.”

Releasing his hand, Craig reached his arm out, offering a one-armed hug. Tweek eagerly scooched closer to Craig, resting his head on Craig’s shoulder and cozying up to Craig’s side. He sighed happily at the warmth of Craig’s body, his stomach fluttering. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling that Tweek experienced around Craig, but the population of butterflies inside him were multiplied by approximately a billion.

Craig kissed the top of Tweek’s head, his lips remaining puckered in a kiss for a few long moments, and Tweek shut his eyes, basking in his affection. Tweek was extremely touch-starved; his friends weren’t usually touchy-feely, and Tweek loved them for it, but sometimes he just needed to rest his head on someone, or feel someone’s arms wrapping around him and squeezing him tightly. It made him feel safe, and that was a sensation he wasn’t exactly familiar with.

It was then that Tweek was reminded of something, (prompted by the innocent kiss from Craig), and a few moments after Craig lifted his lips from his head, Tweek grunted nervously. “I’m sorry for kissing you at the party,” he blurted out quickly, waiting with bated breath for Craig’s response.

Craig snorted. “Don’t be. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Tweek shifted, relieved, but he still felt an uncomfortable guilt in his chest at having shoved his lips on Craig’s without asking first, especially because they were in a room full of people. Tweek hadn’t stopped to see Craig’s expression, but he was sure it wasn’t positive.

“Actually,” Craig said slowly, dropping his arm from around Tweek’s shoulders and instead resting his hand on Tweek’s lower back. “Is it okay if I . . . kind of do that now? I’ve been thinking about it all weekend. It’s been driving me crazy.”

It took Tweek a few moments to understand what Craig was talking about, but when it finally clicked, he blushed and lifted his head, looking up at Craig anxiously. “I’m going to taste like an ashtray, man! _You’ve_ seen the commercials.”

“I don’t care,” Craig answered. “It’ll taste like you, and that’s all I _really_ care about.”

“Oh,” Tweek mumbled, and he averted his eyes. “Um. Well, okay. I’d . . . I’d like that.”

Craig turned his body to face Tweek, and the movement caught Tweek’s attention. Mirroring Craig's shift, Tweek watched in fascination as the chullo-wearing teen’s face reddened. The blush traveled down his shirt, and Tweek swallowed as he thought just how far down the coloration went.

With a gentle hand, Craig rested his palm against Tweek’s cheek, much like he’d done at the party. However, unlike the party, Tweek rested his weight into Craig’s hand, allowing himself to smile and relax into the offered affection. It was a bit of a surreal experience; Tweek had spent so much time dreaming of that moment, that, now that it was happening, it was like his mind had decided to fuck over his consciousness and force him into a waking dream. But Tweek wasn't about to let that running daydream go, so he rolled with the punches, and, with a melting heart, hoped for the best. 

The two watched each other for a few long moments, as if they were expecting the other to move first. And, having grown frustrated by the lack of action, Craig swooped his head forward pressed their mouths together. Tweek didn't wait a second to respond -- he had wanted Craig for far too long to botch their first-third kiss by being coy and nervous. He was nervous enough as it was; he didn't need to create problems for himself by shirking away from something in his life that was finally promising.

So he responded with like enthusiasm, his head tilting to deepen the kiss, mouth opening ever-so-slightly, just enough so that their tongues could dance together in a finely-tuned waltz. 

Shivering in the mid-fall air, (though it was probably less about the weather and more about the delicate way Craig handled him), Tweek rested a hand to Craig’s chest, his palm just over Craig’s racing heart, and his mind exploded as various thoughts raced through his brain. Craig’s lips weren’t chapped. He tasted like strawberries, but the artificial kind, which meant he probably put chapstick on, which meant he prepared, which meant he intended for the entire conversation to happen, which meant he had wanted Tweek all along, and those flurry of thoughts made Tweek quiver with excitement.

Eventually, Craig pulled back, though his hesitation suggested this had less to do with some desire to be away from Tweek, and more to do with the fact that breathing was a necessary fact of life, however inconvenient it could be. Perhaps the longer they continued their . . . whatever they had, he would be able to tolerate kissing for a longer period of time, but he was getting hot, and Tweek was so warm pressed against him, and it was hard to keep his head.  

Craig cleared his throat, and averted his eyes. “Sorry if that was bad.” There was an odd regret in his voice, though he tried to mask it with an indifferent shrug. “I’ve only kissed a few people, and it’s been awhile."

Tweek's voice was embarrassingly shaky and high-pitched as he squeaked out, “You were good on Saturday." He let out a nervous giggle. "Fuck, _really_ good.”

The blonde boy's embarrassment seemed to negate Craig's, and he grinned, tucking Tweek under his arm again. “Oh yeah?”

Tweek felt another, more confident giggle bubble in his chest, and he hid it behind his hand. “Yeah.”

“I’ll make sure to do it more often then.”

With a fond smile, Tweek rested his head on Craig's shoulder and sighed contentedly. “I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the conclusion was horrible, I couldn't figure out how I wanted it to end.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment, if you'd like. It'd be much appreciate, thank you!
> 
> Also: I've been playing around with the idea of a part three, even though this as originally a two-shot. Is anyone interested in a part three, or do you guys think it ends at a good place? Let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two will have much more Craig in it.


End file.
